


Today He Wants Skin, and Skin He'll Have

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Being Lost, Blood and Torture, Everything Hurts, Experimental Style, Genital Torture, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Memories, Poetry, Prose Poem, Sibling Incest, flaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Thramsay in poetry and prose. The other characters tagged appear in both concrete and intangible ways through out the text. Hints of Theon/Asha and Theon/Robb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today He Wants Skin, and Skin He'll Have

_Today he wants skin and skin he'll have._

The light creeps into the room with him, back-lit like a statue in a septum. 

The Stranger standing open handed  
The Stranger coming for his due  
The Stranger coming home to the Father, holding only his lantern  
Holding only his lantern with nothing to give.

Those were never his gods  
Never his gods  
Not the trees or the stone family or the snow  
He never met his God till the saltwater poured over his head  
Down his neck  
Down his back  
Down his back and into the sand.

It clung to him till he washed himself and she was there.  
She cleaned his back like a sister

And not like a sister  
He wanted a sister.

Today he wants skin and skin he'll have.

"Oh there you are, Reek."

That name, his name.

_Ramsay comes into the chamber, the light creeping in with him. He's back-lit, his face shadowed, two cuts of ice and a crooked bone crescent cutting through the dark. He wields the name like a prayer, like a knife, slicing and whispering until their isn't anything left._

The Prince of Winterfell, is Reek is Theon, is Turncloak  
is definitely not Theon  
not Theon  
is helpless.

Knife pulls up to his skin as soft as a lover's  
lips pull up to his skin as soft as a lover's  
as soft as a lover's  
as soft as the way meat is soft when pulled away from the bone  
still warm and covered with blood, clutched in his hand like a trophy  
like a fucking trophy

all you are is his trophy.

Today he wants skin and skin he'll have.

_Ramsay sidles up to Theon, smelling of cloves and wine. The knife is in one hand and jealousy is in the other, red and sticky like the sap of the weirwoods._

_"You said their names in your sleep again. You said their names."_

He dreamt he was whole again, ten fingers, ten toes, two brothers, one father, one mother, one sister, one friend.

One friend with rusty hair and warm eyes,  
warm as wolf skin on a snowy night,  
warm as mulled wine stolen in the dark.

One sister with a sharp mind and sharper axes,  
fast fingers and a faster tongue,  
and salt,  
salt in her skin, in her words, her blood,  
in her smell.  
She smelled like home.

_"None of them will ever want you again."_

_"You're lucky to have me."_

_The blade enters his finger, getting under the skin just right. The blood starts quickly, but Ramsay pulls slowly, watching each spasm, an each tear as they cover Theon's face. And when the piece comes off entirely, Ramsay is sweating._

The sweat runs down his temple, down his neck, down his back, down his back and into his clothes  
And the blood runs down Theon's hand, Theon's wrist,  
starting the transformation into ruddy brown memories left on his skin.

He wants his skin  
his pain  
his soul his memories

Today he wants skin and skin he'll have.

_What did you expect Reek. Coming back to him, your head so inflated with your own self worth. You were nothing. Why would he want you Reek? You were nothing to him, he threw you away. He threw you away, Reek._

_But I never will._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thramsay Week.
> 
> I had wanted this to be longer, but it just sort of felt done when it did. I hope you all like it.
> 
> This is something very different from my other stuff, an it’s not intended to be specifically sexual/pornographic (like everything else I write, *uncomfortable laugh*).


End file.
